facta furiosum
by alovelycupoftea
Summary: Draco plus Ron plus A Cupboard equals Exciting Discoveries. A Harry/Draco romance with some entirely unnecessary classical flourishes. No actual Draco/Ron occurs.


**facta furiosum** by alovelycupoftea

Summary: Draco + Ron + A Cupboard = Exciting Discoveries. A Harry/Draco romance with some entirely unnecessary classical flourishes. No actual Draco/Ron occurs.

This was written for lj's hd_smoochfest 2009.

**This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**facta furiosum**

"Weird being back, isn't it?" Ron's observation jolted Harry from the appalling memories of the final battle. "It feels kind of right though, doesn't it? Being back for one more year?"

Harry looked round the Great Hall. "Yeah. One more year," he echoed. They took their customary seats at the Gryffindor table. As Harry turned towards the front to watch the Sorting he remembered why he'd always chosen this seat in sixth-year. He had an unrestricted view of where Malfoy always used to sit. As he was staring at the Slytherin table, lost in thought, Malfoy himself walked quietly in and sat down in his old seat. Lifting his head he caught Harry's eye and nodded in greeting. Ron noticed him too.

"Brilliant. We're all back then. Even Death Eaters." Ron curled his lip.

"Ron!" Hermione looked shocked. "Malfoy is required to finish his schooling as his probation. And you know he never got the Mark. Besides, for our post-Voldemort world to mean anything it has to offer fresh starts for everyone! Just live and let live? Please? I'm fairly sure we've all had our fill of fighting."

"Alright." Ron rolled his eyes. "Now hush, the Sorting's about to start."

Harry watched the Sorting of the new first-years and contemplated how his own seemed simultaneously like it was yesterday and a thousand years ago. Lost in thought, he barely heard the names being called or the Housescheering. He looked at the High Table, half expecting to see Dumbledore there. His eyes darted round the room and he swallowed as he realised just how many people were missing. Without thinking, his gaze absently came to rest on Malfoy. He watched him watching the Sorting and was reminded of watching him on the stand in front of the Wizengamot.

'The Voldemort Trials', as the iDaily Prophet/i had called them, were held over the summer months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry had thought it was a stupid name for them because, of all the people being tried, Voldemort definitely was not among them. He'd amused himself by thinking up more ridiculous names for them when he was sat in the courtroom waiting to testify at Draco Malfoy's trial. If he were a tabloid hack, he had thought, he would call this the Spoiled Brat Gets In Over His Head And Is Forced To Account For His Actions Trial. Although that did somewhat lack the brevity required for truly iconic title coining. Harry hated to admit it, but whoever had come up with The Boy Who Lived was a potential advertising genius. Lucius Malfoy's (Horrid Man Is Confronted By His Horrid Deeds) trial had ended in him being sentenced to ten years in Azkaban but Harry's testimony at Narcissa's (Quite A Nice Lady Shame About The Awful Husband Who Got Her Tangled Up In A Big Murderous Mess) had been the main factor in persuading the Wizengamot that a probationary period would be most appropriate for her.

Waiting to take the stand in Narcissa Malfoy's trial had felt nothing like the jittering nausea that had been threatening to overwhelm him since he'd woken up and had realised that it was the day of Malfoy's trial. He'd been trying to work out just why he felt so discombobulated ever since he'd stumbled out of bed. He'd got as far as identifying the feelings as nervousness and anticipation; decided the nerves were because he was going to have to share details of his and Voldemort's connection with the entire wizarding world to explain how he knew so much about what Malfoy had been doing over the past year; and was distinctly not thinking about why he felt such anticipation at the thought of seeing Malfoy again.

Harry's eyes had been drawn to Malfoy as soon as he entered the court. Being held in the Ministry while awaiting trial had made him skinnier still and he looked pallid and unhealthy rather than aristocratically pale. He looked straight ahead and only allowed a flicker of something Harry couldn't identify to penetrate his emotionless mask when Harry was called to the stand. Draco's own testimony was spoken in a low voice, and Harry thought he heard repressed emotion and remembered fear. When the Wizengamot pronounced that Draco was to spend a year on probation resitting his final year at Hogwarts, Harry's relief was overwhelming. Draco simply inclined his head in a gesture of thanks towards Harry, bowed to the court officials and left the court with his mother.

As Harry sat in the Gryffindor common room, tired out from all the people who'd wanted to chat to him, it occurred to him how gracefully the castle seemed to wear her scars. He'd known that Hogwarts had been rebuilt over the summer by a team of Ministry approved magical contractors and he had owled McGonagall asking if he could help in any way. She'd replied suggesting that he spend a summer in rest and relaxation, and that autumn would come soon enough. In hindsight, he was glad he'd not been there to see Hogwarts so ripped apart. Besides, it had taken a lot of time and no little money on a counsellor before he could even begin to feel at peace with his memories of the last years. The war would always be a part of him, but he hoped one last year of Hogwarts as his school would be enough time to make new memories to superimpose on his ones of Hogwarts as a battlefield. He stared at a patch of curse damage not quite hidden by a relocated portrait. Hermione had said that the castle was the whole wizarding world in microcosm - scarred but still living, and Harry thought she was right.

"Wizard chess, Harry?" Harry jumped, startled out of his profundity.

"No thanks, Ron. You'll only win and it's not even the first day of term. I think I'll postpone getting destroyed 'til a week or two has passed." Ron grinned at that. "Besides, I think it might be bedtime. I've spent a whole summer getting up whenever I wanted, so I think tomorrow's going to be a horrible shock to my system. Night."

"Night. I'll be up in a bit." Ron sat down to start playing a game with Seamus.

Harry was right, breakfast was hideously early. He'd not slept particularly well either – he had forgotten what dormitories were like. He was grateful that the first day of term was mainly spent in organising themselves for the coming year, especially as everyone was repeating the last year; the governors having realised that nothing of any educational worth was taught under the Carrows' tenure. The final year were so depleted that their lessons were joint across all four Houses. Harry had been enormously pleased when he'd seen that on the timetable, ostensibly because he had been convinced of the need for inter-house unity and togetherness, but actually because it meant he could watch Malfoy all day everyday.

Malfoy-watching wasn't the same as it used to be, however. He barely spoke in lessons, only in answer to a teacher's question, and worked quietly with almost eerie stillness. He spoke in hushed tones to the other Slytherins, was impeccably polite to everyone else and spent most of his free time by himself in the library, with a wall of books around his workspace. Harry, continuously surrounded by his friends and housemates, wondered if he wasn't terribly lonely. Sometimes he thought that he envied Malfoy's quiet solitude. Whilst this non-confrontational Malfoy was peaceful, the lifelessness in his features made Harry sad. It almost made him wish for the silly pranks and fist fights of their youth. He liked not being continually insulted but he hated to see the lack of fire in Malfoy's eyes. He thought he'd rather have punches in the face than the cold civility that now characterised his relationship with Malfoy.

The noise of everyone else packing up their bags made Harry realise that he'd spent yet another lesson thinking about Malfoy. He gathered up his possessions, and walked towards the door. As he walked out of the classroom he noticed something white on the floor. Bending to pick it up, he realised it was one of Malfoy's quills.

Ignoring the fact that instantly recognising his writing implements perhaps meant he was staring too much, he hurried to catch up with Draco. "Malfoy, wait!"

"Yes, Potter?" Malfoy turned round and stared somewhere past Harry's right shoulder.

"Er, you dropped this." Harry held the quill out.

"Thank you." He tucked it away into his bag.

Looking straight at Draco, Harry asked, "So… How are you?"

"Splendid, thank you; and you?" Malfoy didn't look splendid. He looked pale and sad and subdued and he wouldn't meet Harry's gaze.

"Fine, yeah." Harry cursed himself for his complete lack of eloquence when it came to the other boy.

"Good. Thanks again, Potter." Draco turned and headed towards the dungeons. Every single day they had a similar exchange and Malfoy's unrelenting politeness was starting to grate. He couldn't understand how Malfoy couldn't be lonely, but all his attempts at conversation were rebuffed, and he was wondering if they'd ever graduate past greetings and inquiries of wellness. Harry sighed. He was nothing if not persistent, after all.

That evening Harry went to the library again after dinner. His preoccupation with watching Malfoy meant that he had to go over his notes again after the lesson had ended to try and actually absorb what had been taught. They were less than half a term in and Hermione was already counting down the days until NEWTs. Harry had discovered long ago that the key to a peaceful life was to appear to be working as hard as possible. The fact that this generally meant evenings in the library when the only free desk was one with a clear view of Malfoy's workspace was completely coincidental.

The sound of fast footsteps and suppressed giggles startled Harry out of his gazing and he looked up to see Dean and Ginny coming out the stacks looking suspiciously dishevelled. Harry quickly picked up his textbook and opened it in front of his face. Just seeing Ginny was enough to remind him of… Harry tried desperately to concentrate on the words in front of his eyes and not to remember that awful evening. Even not thinking about that evening caused a flush to rise up Harry's neck and he pulled at the collar of his school shirt uncomfortably.

Like picking at a scab, Harry couldn't now not relive that moment when Ginny, displaying a surprising maturity and perceptiveness, had pointed out that he'd spent more time staring at the arse of the blond bloke at the bar than at her. She'd told him that she'd been in love with the idea of him, not the reality, and that he was clearly conflicted about his sexuality, before getting up from her seat, kissing him on the cheek and assuring him there would be no hard feelings. Harry, discerning that she'd left the bar with more than her fair share of dignity, had proceeded to eradicate any last traces of his own with a questionable combination of spirits and increasingly less furtive stares at all the male arses in the room.

He had been so hammered that he barely noticed, much less cared, that there was a _Daily Prophet _photographer waiting outside to catch him. As the flash went off he had known he'd been caught at the precise mid-blink moment when one looks most wrecked. Harry had ignored it and concentrated on chanting his address to himself over and over again and trying not to fall arse over tit.

That London rain that seemed to soak him right through to his innards by the time he had trudged back to Grimmauld Place had sobered him up enough to concede that probably finding blokes more attractive than girls was an indicator he might be gay. Any remaining traces of denial were washed away in the shower with his spunk the next morning when two lubed fingers up his arse and thoughts of the blond at the bar's body gave him the best wank he could ever remember having and cleared some of his hangover.

Harry dropped his head to his desk and groaned quietly. He longed for the day when he could see Ginny, or even better have a conversation with her without reliving that humiliating night.

Ron seemed to take exception to Malfoy's icy politeness and the war had honed his strategic nature. Rather than exploding at him, or trying to provoke a reaction, Ron watched. He watched Malfoy watching Harry. He watched how he interacted with Harry as compared to everyone else. He noted how Malfoy's eyes glowed with some sort of repressed emotion whenever he saw Harry laughing with his friends. And he watched how Malfoy looked at Harry with an expression that was suspiciously like sympathy when Harry had that tiny frown that Ron knew meant Harry was dwelling on the war. Finally, when he had decided he'd learnt all he could by watching, he'd hung back from Charms, their last class of the day, and gestured at Harry and Hermione to go on ahead. He had waited for Malfoy to ask Professor Flitwick a question as he was methodically packing up his bag and then he fell into step with him as he left the classroom.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

Suddenly all Ron's frustration at Malfoy's refusal to be anything but civil and his own inability to figure him out flooded out, and grabbing him by the robes he pushed him up against the corridor wall. Malfoy looked surprised for an instant, and then returned his face to its usual mask of calmness. When the back of his head hit a bit of protruding stone his mask broke. "Ow! Weasley, what was that for?"

Malfoy put his hand up to his head and it came away bloody. Ron looked surprised and a little bit guilty to see the blood on Malfoy's pale fingers. The stone wall behind them melted away and they fell backwards. They heard the grinding of stone on stone and were plunged into darkness.

"Bloody hell!"

The darkness stopped Draco from being certain but he'd bet his allowance that Weasley was now opening and closing his mouth in that annoying way of his. Weasley began to shout, "What the fuck just happened? What did you do? Where are we? I'll bloody deck you for this!"

"You pushed me through a wall, Weasley. I didn't do anything." Draco lit his wand with a muttered iLumos/i and looked around them. He absently noted that Weasley was indeed opening and closing his mouth and mentally congratulated himself. They were in a small room, little more than a broom cupboard really. There were bare walls surrounding them.

"Where are we? What have you done? I knew you were still evil. But no, nobody listens to me. I bet this is a trap, isn't it?"

"You pushed me through a wall. You caused this situation. It is not a trap, I am not responsible for it, and can I point out that _I am stuck here too!_ If it was a plan to imprison you, it has gone rather wrong, wouldn't you say? And finally, if I did plan to leave you in a bare room to rot, which I should point out is rather appealing, I would be standing on the other side celebrating with an evil laugh, and I would most definitely not be in here with you!"

"Yeah, well most of your plans do go wrong so that's not exactly a good argument," Ron muttered, sulkily.

Draco ignored him in favour of casting spells at the wall that had disappeared to trap them in the room. Everything from unlocking spells to dark hexes bounced harmlessly off the stone and he ducked to avoid them hitting him. Weasley watched him for a few moments before joining in and hurling the blasting curse at the wall with vicious abandon. "_Confringo_! Why are the spells bouncing off? _Confringo_! How are we going to get out? _Confringo_! What have you done to the wall?"

"Weasel." Draco took a deep breath and tried to reign in his anger. "Weasley. I have not done anything to the wall. I don't know why spells are bouncing off. This mess is not my fault."

Ron stopped casting _Confringo_ and turned to look at Malfoy. "Well it's not my fault!"

"It is your fault! You slammed me into the wall, which we then fell through! If we're assigning blame I'm fairly sure it's all yours!" Draco barely stopped himself from yelling. He pursed his lips together and cast a spell his father had taught him that revealed hidden magics. The walls all around them shimmered a blue colour and a golden inscription appeared in the middle of the murky brown fog covering the stone in front of them. "The blue is the Hogwarts wards. The inscription might explain why nothing is working against the wall."

"What does it say?" Ron was staring at it as if expecting it to do something.

"It's in Latin." Draco had decided to repay Ron's willingness to blame him with an unwillingness to share all his information.

Ron turned to him and frowned. He raised his voice again. "I can see that. What does it mean?"

"It says, _facta furiosum vos deprehendit, facta amantum vos liberabit_." Draco was finding it hard not to smirk.

"What. Does. It. Mean. Malfoy?"

"No." Draco crossed his arms across his chest. "I'm not telling you a thing until you accept that I did not cause this to happen and you promise that there will be no hexing or hitting of me."

"Why should I? I'm not promising not to hex or hit you! And I still think this is your fault." Ron replied, staring hotly at Malfoy.

Malfoy looked unconcerned and absently tapped his wand against the palm of his other hand. "Fine then. Don't promise me and I won't tell you what the inscription says about how to get out of here."

Ron looked livid. Draco merely conjured himself a leather wing backed armchair and a pouffe and sat down with his legs outstretched. He stared at his fingernails in a gesture of studied indifference. Surreptitiously looking at his watch, Draco betted that it would be less than five minutes before Weasley cracked.

Ron held his wand hand out to his side. "_Accio_ Latin dictionary!"

Draco expertly hid his surprise. So Weasley was going to try and figure it out for himself. Interesting. A smile began to form when a minute passed and no lexicon had come sailing through the solid wall. Then there was a thump which Draco suspected was the dictionary bouncing off the wall onto the corridor floor.

Ron's face was red and his lips were pursed. He sighed, then bit out, "_dico lingua Latina_!"

A translation spell. So, Weasley was serious about figuring it out by himself. Draco was secretly impressed that he even knew that spell. He was not exactly surprised when nothing happened and he heard Weasley begin cursing under his breath.

Draco suspected the murky brown fog that had been revealed on the wall they'd fallen through was some kind of magic dampener, and he'd been surprised when he'd been able to conjure his seating. The whole of the magical signature that had shown up in his revealing spell in some ways reminded him of studying the magics of the Room of Requirement, and he had the beginnings of a theory that they would only be able to do magic that the room deemed necessary. He was pleased that the room thought a comfortable seat was as necessary as he did.

He glanced at his watch again. If Weasley gave up in the next thirty seconds Draco would win. Making bets with himself about the predictability of Gryffindors was one of the many ways Draco had found to amuse himself this school year.

Ron sighed, and turned to face him. "Fine. I promise not to hex or hit you. Now tell me what it means."

Draco allowed a huge smirk to spread across his face, one of the kind he hadn't used since his return to Hogwarts. He paused, dramatically.

"It means _an act of rage has trapped you, an act of love will free you_."

Harry made his way from the common room to the Great Hall for dinner. He usually tried to do at least some of his homework between the end of lessons and dinner because that was when Malfoy was normally in his common room and so out of range of Harry's surveillance. He massaged circles with his fingers around his temples in the way Hermione swore got rid of tiredness headaches. Defeating Voldemort was supposed to mean no more nightmares for Harry. It actually meant that between the nightmares about the people he hadn't saved and the normal teenage boy dreams Harry hadn't had a decent night's sleep in what felt like forever. Especially not since drinking oneself into a stupor then passing out was frowned upon at Hogwarts.

He sat down next to Hermione and looked automatically to the Slytherin table. Malfoy wasn't there. Harry frowned. Malfoy was always prompt to meals. He smiled wryly to himself. At first he'd rationalised his obsession with Malfoy-watching as just a precaution in case anyone took out their disgust on him at what some perceived as his overly lenient sentence. After Malfoy was ignored by most of the school and treated with polite caution by his housemates, Harry continued to watch him, remembering Moody's motto of 'constant vigilance'.

Harry had been able to ignore the fact that the blond at the bar Ginny had accused him of perving on on that disastrous night bore something of a resemblance to Malfoy. He'd tried not to notice that between his trial and the start of term Malfoy had filled out and no longer looked so haunted. He'd refused to concede that the words 'pointy' and 'pale' had been replaced by 'chiselled' and 'luminous' in his internal monologue. However, when he saw Malfoy in his Quidditch gear coming off the pitch after helping the Slytherin team practice looking sweaty and mussed and positively edible and that image had been in his dreams that and every subsequent night, Harry finally accepted that it was possible he had a tiny crush on Malfoy and that might possibly maybe be why he watched him all the time.

"Harry?" Hermione interrupted his thoughts. "Earth to Harry?"

Harry shook his head, as if clearing away distracting thoughts. He turned to face his friend. "Sorry, Hermione, I was miles away."

She smiled, "I noticed. But have you seen Ron? It's not like him to miss a meal. Why didn't he come down from the common room with you?"

He frowned. "He wasn't in the common room. I figured you two had snuck off for some, ahem, studying, so I just did some homework."

Hermione blushed. "No. I went to the library. I haven't seen him since Charms, when he said something about staying behind to ask Flitwick a question."

"Neither have I. Perhaps he just got caught up doing something. I'm sure he'll be here soon." Harry smiled reassuringly but he was a little concerned. Ron missing meals was not a good sign.

Hermione finished her meal. "I need to go back to the library. When he turns up will you tell him I was looking for him?"

"Of course." Harry chewed his pudding thoughtfully. He squashed down the tiny bit of worry he felt. Ron had survived all their adventures thus far. One missed meal did not a crisis make. He frowned. Malfoy hadn't arrived at dinner either. Nevertheless when he got back to the common room he went up to his dorm for the Marauder's Map. Sitting on his bed his opened it up and scanned the castle. On the third floor, just down the corridor from the Charms classroom he saw two dots labelled Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley in a tiny room. Harry stilled.

He and Hermione had told Ron hundreds of times that everyone, even Draco Malfoy, deserved a second chance. Ron had on the first day of term finally very bad-temperedly agreed that he would be civil to Malfoy. But Harry was absolutely certain that he still hated him. He glowered at him all the time and never returned Malfoy's polite greetings when they were forced to interact. Yet the map showed them in a room together. A tiny room. About the size of a broom cupboard. Harry took a deep breath. It all made sense. Ron pretended to hate Malfoy so that no one would guess that they were having a torrid affair. He frowned. Ron and Hermione did seem to be very happy together. Of course! That also ensured no one would ever suspect. Ron pretended to hate Malfoy and pretended to love Hermione while all the time they were having clandestine broom cupboard trysts! He frowned again. When Harry had come out to Ron, he had been supportive but made a whole speech about how great girls were. He had asked why anyone would want a boy when you could have lovely woman curves. Harry's eyes widened. It was perfect. His Hermione-loving straight image was the perfect alibi. No one would ever know that he and Malfoy were secret broom cupboard partners. It was completely and wonderfully devious and Harry felt proud to have outwitted it. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and headed to the third floor. There was investigating to do.

"WHAT?"

"You heard, Weasley." Draco didn't even try and stop another smirk at the look on Weasley's face.

"AN ACT OF LOVE WILL FREE US?"

"No need to shout, Weasley, I'm only here." Draco crossed his ankles nonchalantly. He looked up and saw that Weasley's face had gone a pleasing crimson colour. His hands were clenching and unclenching by his side and he was staring almost manically. He turned round and leaned his forehead against the wall. Draco could just about hear him muttering something that sounded like 'why me' over and over again. He grinned and stared at Weasley's shuddering back.

Harry stomped to the third floor corridor and located himself on the map. On the other side of the wall, the Ron and Draco dots were still there. Noticing a patch of red on the stone he touched his fingers to it then brought them to his nose. It had the slightly metallic smell of blood. Harry was bemused. Blood on the wall didn't seem like it fitted it with his secret affairs in cupboards theory. And there was the small fact that this wasn't a cupboard. There wasn't a doorway. Despite himself, Harry was impressed. It took some pretty advanced magic to conceal entrances and exits. And it also made being detected much less likely. It was certainly cunning, he conceded. Slightly bizarre, but definitely cunning. His foot bumped into something and he looked down at the floor. He picked up the book next to his left shoe. A Latin dictionary? That was more bizarre. Perhaps it was some kind of code. Harry's eyes widened. They must be expecting a third person to join them and the dictionary was an indicator of where the hidden doorway was. This was more serious than he'd thought.

Having exhausted all the potential spells he thought might create a doorway and having had them all bounce harmlessly off the wall, on a whim Harry tried the eavesdropping spell that Fred and George had taught him that formed the basis of their Extendable Ears. He suppressed the pang of guilt mingled with grief he felt about Fred and was astonished when it worked. He cast a privacy bubble, covered himself with his cloak and sat down against the wall to hear what was going on.

Ron took a deep breath and turned away from the wall and back to Malfoy. The stupid insufferable git was just sitting there in that bloody leather poncey chair, and who on earth their age used a _footstool_ anyway? He closed his eyes and remembered his frankly foolish promise not to hex or hit the idiot. He pursed his lips and remembered why he didn't make deals or promises with Slytherins. Malfoy had revealed information that made him practically itch for his wand, or even his fists, and had made him agree to do neither. It was sort of clever, Ron conceded. But evil!

Ron took a deep soothing breath. "Does an act of love mean what I think it means?"

"I don't know. What do you think it means?" Malfoy was smirking again.

"What I think is that you trapped me in a cupboard and now you're saying we have to fuck our way out of it." The urge to hex Malfoy was becoming harder and harder to resist. Ron clasped his hands behind his back, squeezing so hard he expected his nails to break the skin.

Malfoy's smirk faltered. "I did not trap us in here. We have already established that. And you seriously believe that I would go to such lengths for a lousy screw with you, Weasel?" Malfoy sneered.

Outside the room, Harry let out a sigh of relief. They weren't having an affair. They didn't want to have an affair. He began to feel a little bit foolish about the conclusions he had jumped too. They were sort of preposterous.

"Fine. Somehow we got trapped in here. And now we have to…" Ron waved his hand in between them "to get out again."

"Essentially, yes. Except it was you that trapped us in here. You slamming me up against the wall and bashing my head against the brick in a fit of temper is quite clearly the 'act of rage that trapped us'. So we'll have less of the 'it's not my fault' and more of the admission of guilt from you, you ridiculous berk."

Staring at Malfoy's slightly flushed face Ron realised he hadn't seen him this worked up all term. "Fine. I might have the larger share in the getting us stuck in here blame. But it wasn't entirely my fault!"

"Oh?" Malfoy raised one eyebrow in the way that had always infuriated him so much.

"Yeah. If you hadn't been so quiet and suspiciously polite all term and if you didn't stare at Harry all the time then I wouldn't have wanted to find out what was going on," Ron snapped. "But then your bloody annoying civility annoyed me and I sort of slammed you against the wall. It's your fault too!"

A flash of anger passed across Malfoy's face. He took a deep breath. "Of course. Why don't you conjure yourself a chair? We're obviously going to be here a long time."

Ron conjured himself a squishy red chair like his favourite one in the Gryffindor common room and sat next to Malfoy, staring at the wall that was trapping them. He suddenly felt very tired and very hungry. His stomach was telling him they'd missed dinner. Leaning his head against the back of the chair, he stared at the ceiling. "Malfoy? Could you please go over the inscription one more time? There has to be another meaning."

Harry was shocked. He had thought Ron was cheating on Hermione and lying about his sexual orientation but actually he was trapped in a room with someone he really hated. He felt like a terrible friend. How could he have thought that about Ron? Ron was loyal, except for when he doubted Harry or stormed off and abandoned them. But he didn't do that very often. And he hadn't for a long time. And now he was stuck in a tiny room with Harry's secret crush and was probably going to have to cheat on his girlfriend to escape. Harry sighed. Why didn't things like that ever happen to him?

"It says, ian act of rage has trapped you, an act of love will free you/i."

"Okay." Ron stared at the inscription. "So, we know the first half is right, because I committed an act of rage and now we're trapped. An act of love? Which bit of the Latin means that?"

Draco was surprised that Ron finally admitted that it was his fault they were trapped. He thought stubbornness even in the face of overwhelming evidence was the Gryffindor motto. "_acta amantum_ means an _act of love_."

"Okay. So _acta_ means act, right?" He was frowning at the wall as if will power alone would be enough to force it to give up its secrets.

Draco nodded. "Correct."

"And _amantum_ means love?" Weasley shuddered, seemingly unconsciously.

"Well, yes. Here it's used in an adjectival sense. I suppose an equally good translation would be _a loving act_." Draco bit his lip as he tried to remember his childhood Latin lessons.

"Okay. And that definitely means, er, sex?" Ron started to go red again.

"Well. I'm not sure. I was taught Latin as a child so we didn't exactly cover Latin idioms for sex. I only learnt it because one should have a good understanding of wizarding traditions and most of our spells are Latin or Latin derivations." He was a bit aggrieved at having to admit this gap in his knowledge.

Ron turned to look at him. "Why is that? I've never understood that."

"Were you not taught anything conventional before you came to Hogwarts?" Draco asked.

"I don't see why you're surprised! You've made fun of me and my family enough times for being uncultured just because we're not as hoity-toity as you and your traditions!" Ron snapped his head back round to face the wall.

Draco merely said calmly, "Tradition is important, Weasley. I apologise, I did not mean to infer anything derogatory about your upbringing."

"What? Excuse me? You spend seven years teasing me about my upbringing and now you say you don't 'mean to infer anything derogatory'?" Ron was steadily growing angrier.

"I thought you had noticed that I didn't do that any longer. After all, that is what you wanted to talk to me about. I was a horrible little boy, especially to those my father told me were my inferiors. But I am trying to do better, and, again, I have apologised if I caused any offence."

Ron took a deep breath. "Apology accepted. And I have noticed that you haven't insulted me once this year. So, er, thanks."

Draco looked straight ahead at the inscription and decided to give Ron a chance to calm down before they returned to puzzling out the Latin. "The question of why all our spells are Latin or Latin derivations is an interesting one. Augustus, the first Roman emperor, expelled all wizards from Rome and burnt all their books shortly after he came to power. Now, obviously most of them were charlatans, but some of them were real wizards. No other Roman emperor acted very kindly towards to the wizarding world; the threat of the other, I suppose. And then there's the fact that Greek was the language of the educated and most wizarding communities at that time were based around Athens, or Delphi, or other places like that. Even Muggles could feel the strong earth magic, that's why they built all those temples there. Yet it's Latin which has survived as the language of the wizarding world. Curious, really."

"That's interesting, Malfoy; you're not as thick as I thought," Ron admitted grudgingly.

Draco acknowledged it as a compliment. "Thanks." He decided that as it seemed like they were going to be stuck here forever until one of them committed a loving act, it would probably be expedient to be pleasant to Weasley. "Well, if it wasn't for Granger's unquenchable thirst for knowledge I'd be top of our year."

"Did you just say something nice about Hermione, Malfoy?"

Draco sniffed. "I said something true, Weasley. Niceness doesn't come into it." As he said that he conceded it was true. And possibly nice. If Malfoys did nice. Which they didn't. "Seeing as we're trapped here, how about a truce? I'll return your promise of no hexing or hitting and, as a gesture of goodwill, promise no insults also." Draco smiled what he hoped was a charming smile.

Ron almost smiled back. "After not insulting me all term, and not even properly insulting me since we've been trapped, you're offering me a deal in which the incentive is no insults?" Ron snorted. "Fine. I accept. Truce."

"Good. Now, I went through a phase a few years ago of reading Ovid. Wonderful love poetry. He was a wizard, you know. And I don't think he ever uses _acta amantum_ to mean the, er, sexual act. Of course he usually alludes to it, rather than speaking about it directly, but nonetheless. So it is possible that we have to think somewhat more creatively." Draco tucked his hair behind his ears contemplatively. He'd started growing it out and no longer slicked it back.

Ron grunted. "Thinking creatively. Stuck in a room with riddles. This sounds more like the Hogwarts I know. Brilliant." Draco looked questioningly at him. "Nevermind. First year. We had to get past various obstacles to rescue the Philosopher's Stone from Voldemort who was using the back of Quirrell's head as his vessel." Draco made a noise of revulsion. "Yeah. Gross, right? Anyway; _amantum_ means loving?"

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Well, it does, but just like in English, it's all about shades of meaning. For example, our word 'loving' can mean sex and the physical elements of a relationship, but it can also mean friendship, and understanding, and that sort of thing."

"You're saying that a 'loving act' might be an act of caring? Or sacrifice, like Harry's mum?" Ron began to look more comfortable.

"Yes. But hopefully not precisely like that because I would quite like to come out of this cupboard alive." Draco harrumphed. Was everything about massive acts of sacrifice to Gryffindors?

"Trust me; I didn't survive the war to die in a broom cupboard with you. So, uh, understanding and caring, huh? According to Hermione, that's not in my nature."

Draco almost snickered internally. Who knew the Weasel had a sense of humour?

Harry's bottom was beginning to go numb from sitting down for so long. He sighed. If the castle was going to keep them there 'til they reached an understanding they might be in there for years. He supposed he should go and tell Hermione that Ron was safe. Maybe not tell her that he was locked in a cupboard until he and Malfoy sorted out their differences because she'd probably worry. But he could say that he was doing some extra Quidditch coaching or something. Harry cast _Finite Incantatem_ and stood up.

"We've missed dinner." Draco turned his head to face Weasley as he spoke. It seemed there was a limit on how long Weasley could stay silent for and they'd reached it.

"You don't say." He sighed. "Try asking the room for some food. I have a feeling it works along the same lines of the Room of Requirement." Two plates piled with dinner popped into existence on top of a coffee table. Draco concentrated. A bottle of Firewhisky and two glasses joined them. Weasley looked curiously at them. He shrugged, elegantly. "I thought we might need some social lubrication to get to the caring and understanding part. Failing that, if I do have to bugger you I don't want to be entirely sober for it."

"Shut up. If either of us is doing any buggering it's definitely going to be me." Ron determinedly did not look at Draco as he said this.

Draco just looked amused and started eating. As soon as their plates were empty, they vanished. Draco put his feet back up on the footstool and stared straight ahead. Ron also looked at the wall that was trapping them. "Let's get on with it."

"Let's get on with what?" Draco looked disinterested. He poured himself a hefty glass of Firewhisky.

"Well, the sooner we, you know, the sooner we get out of here. And as I don't want to spend the rest of my time at Hogwarts, never mind the rest of my life in here, let's get to the understanding." Ron sounded like anything would be preferable to reaching understanding with him and he reached for the bottle.

"Right. And your suggestion for overcoming years of enmity to reach a beautiful harmonious place of love is what exactly?" The arched eyebrow had returned.

Ron humphed. Then his face lit up. Draco wondered how he'd managed to survive the war when he so clearly telegraphed his emotions. "Wizard chess!"

Draco arched his eyebrow impossibly higher. "Wizard chess?"

"Yes! We play, and every time we lose a piece, the other person gets to ask a question and we have to answer honestly!" Weasley seemed to think his idea was brilliant. A wizard chess set appeared on the coffee table.

Draco sighed. "No."

"No? It's a brilliant idea! The room thinks so otherwise it wouldn't have provided the chess set."

"No." Draco was chagrined to have to admit this. "Wizard chess is not one of my many talents. So you'll get to ask far more questions than I will, and that doesn't seem very fair."

Weasley looked put out. "Fine. Exploding Snap. More chance than skill. Can't say fairer than that." A pack of cards appeared next to the chess set.

Draco looked determined. "No. Games are not where my abilities lie, Weasley."

"What did you do as a child then?" He looked puzzled and genuinely curious.

"Read, Weasley. Read and had lessons and learnt about my magical heritage." He sipped his drink to try and mask his expression.

"Oh." Draco was surprised to see what looked like sympathy on the other boy's face.

Weasley started rummaging in his bag enthusiastically. "Ha! I knew I had it somewhere." Triumphantly he held up a fifty pence piece.

Despite himself, Draco was curious. "What's that?"

"It's Muggle money. Look, it says, fifty pence." Weasley was examining it carefully. "Harry was given it as a Christmas present by his horrible relatives in our first year. He gave it to me and I found it in my trunk the other day. I put it in my bag. I like it. It's a funny shape."

Draco held his hand out. Weasley dropped the coin into it and he looked at it closely. "It is a funny shape. It must be valuable if it was Potter's Christmas present from his adoring family."

Ron looked confused. "Er, no. Harry's relatives hated him. I think Harry said it was worth about…" Ron screwed up his face trying to remember. "I think it's one Sickle and twenty Knuts."

He was surprised. The Golden Boy was given that as his Christmas present? "Surely they gave him other stuff too?"

"That year I think he got a pair of old socks as well." Ron looked angry. "Anyway, the point is that Muggle money is weighted evenly. So if you throw a coin for long enough it will come out the same amount on one side as the other, Dean told me. That's why they throw a coin before they play football."

"They throw a coin before they play… what? And throw it where?" Draco got more curious. He had realised that he knew almost nothing about Muggles other than this father's spiel about their general incompetence.

"Football. It's like Quidditch only there's one ball and no flying. So I guess it isn't that much like Quidditch. Dean makes us play it sometimes in summer. It's dead fun. Anyway. The point is that one side of the coin has the Queen's head on it," Draco turned the coin over, "see? And the other side has her Toes on it. Or something."

Draco thought Muggles were peculiar. That didn't look very much like someone's toes. "So?"

"So, according to Dean if you toss off the coin 100 times, 50 times it will land Queen and 50 times it will land Toes. It's all about Muggle maths and probability or something. I dunno, Dean tried to explain it once, but I didn't really get it. Anyway, if you're so bothered about fairness, we'll do that. Then we'll both have to answer the same amount of questions and then we'll get out of here."

Draco agreed that did sound reasonable. Ron asked, "Queen or Toes?"

"Queen." Draco sat up regally.

Weasley snickered. "Figures. Right, I'll be Toes then." He tossed the coin. "The side facing upwards is either Queen or Toes. See?" Weasley demonstrated again. "You try so we both do it. Don't want you to accuse me of fixing it, even though that's impossible."

Draco tried and the coin flew up, hit the ceiling and landed on the coffee table. "Maybe a bit more gently?" Ron suggested, holding in his laugh. After a little while he got the hang of it.

"Right, so we ask each other questions, and we have to answer honestly, and then we reach a place of understanding and then we can leave?" Draco looked uncomfortable and sipped his drink.

"That's the plan, yes." Ron was trying to make the coin spin on its points on the coffee table.

He stared at the wall looking disgruntled. It was a hideous plan, full of entirely unnecessary honesty and lots of sharing of emotions. He hated it. And with Weasley, of all people. He could think of some people, well, one person, who he wouldn't mind revealing his true self to. But Weasley? Then again, the alternative was being stuck here for the rest of his life. With Weasley. Short term discomfort did seem the less horrendous option.

"Fine. But what we say in this room goes no further. I'm not having you spilling everything I might or might not say to the entire school." Draco looked resigned.

"Fine. Same to you. Shall I toss off first?" Ron turned to face him.

Draco suppressed a smile. "Be my guest."

"It's Toes. That means you get to ask me something, and I have to answer." Ron looked a little worried.

Harry returned from fibbing to Hermione about Ron's whereabouts. He hoped he hadn't missed anything too exciting. He recast the eavesdropping spell and the privacy bubble and covered himself with his cloak.

Draco thought. He realised that he didn't actually want to know very much about Weasley. He didn't imagine that they would ever be friends, but if things went as he fantasised then they would have to interact. He metaphorically slapped himself. He didn't have a chance with stupid Potter so there was no point thinking about it. All the questions he could think of to ask Weasley were about Harry, not him. And Weasley might be dense but eventually he would catch on. Draco sighed. The only thing to do seemed to be to feign interest in Weasley and try to slip in some Harry questions. He wracked his brain to think of something he could ask him. "Why were you never punished for all your rule breaking?"

Weasley looked surprised. Obviously that wasn't what he was expecting. "Er, well we were punished, all of us. I dread to think how many points we've lost for Gryffindor all together. And I've had tons of detentions with Filch. But the thing is, we didn't break rules just for the hell of it. We were generally battling Voldemort. So on the whole, the end justified the means and I suppose that's why. That and the fact that Dumbledore needed Harry. He couldn't have expelled him, and he wouldn't have expelled us. Your turn."

Draco tossed the coin. "Toes." He held out his hand as proof. "Me again. Is it true you abandoned Potter and Granger last year?"

Ron blushed. "Yeah. My turn. Queen!" He didn't need any time to think about it. "Do you have the mark?"

Draco sneered at him. "No. Honestly. The mark was reserved for Voldemort's inner circle." He didn't hesitate in using his name. "I was never among that number." Weasley looked sceptical so Draco pushed up the sleeves of his robe, exposing both his forearms. "Happy now?"

"But..." he started to protest.

"No more questions 'til we throw another Queen." Draco flicked the coin. "Toes. What do you mean Potter's relatives hated him? Everybody loves the Golden Boy?"

Outside Harry cringed. Not only did he hate that nickname but he really didn't want Malfoy finding that out about him from Ron. He hated talking about the Dursleys, and he really didn't like the idea of Ron talking about it.

"Er, well after, you know, Dumbledore left Harry with his mum's sister. She and her husband hated magic, thought it was _unnatural_, and hated him. He used to have to live in the cupboard under the stairs and they treated him like a house elf. I'm not saying any more. It's Harry's story, not mine." Weasley folded his arms determinedly.

Harry sighed. It could have been worse, he supposed. Ron hadn't said anything too terrible and he answered enough to satiate Malfoy's curiosity but not anything desperately secret. He was once again grateful to his friend.

Ron tossed the fifty pence. "Toes."

Draco smirked, but inwardly he was running out of things he wanted to know. A shameful bit of inspiration struck. He mumbled, "Is your brother ok?"

Ron looked confused. "Which brother?"

Draco's eyes widened. He had no idea what his name was. He thought about it and he realised he didn't even know how many boy Weasleys there were. He took a gulp of Firewhisky. "The one Greyback mauled."

Ron turned to face Draco appraisingly. "He's fine. Now likes his steaks revoltingly rare, but he thinks the scars match his earring and his wife thinks they make him look dashing."

Draco concentrated on tossing the coin to try and give the red spots he was sure had formed on his cheekbones time to disappear. "Queen," he said resignedly. No matter how fair the game they played was, he still had more secrets than Weasley and he didn't want to share them.

Ron asked immediately. He seemed to have a list of prepared questions. "Why didn't you give me, Hermione and Harry away when the Snatchers took us to the manor?"

"I didn't want you to die. I wanted you to live and beat Voldemort and save us all." Draco looked miserable at admitting that.

Weasley looked surprised but knew he couldn't ask anything else until another Queen came up.

Sitting in the corridor, Harry straightened up. When he'd testified for Malfoy he presented the evidence so that was the conclusion he'd prodded the Wizengamot towards, but he'd always wondered whether or not it was how Malfoy perceived it. He didn't really see how else his actions could be interpreted but he was interested and pleased to have it confirmed.

Ron tossed the coin. He sighed. "Toes."

Malfoy knew what he wanted to ask. "Why did you and Potter rescue me and Greg from the Fiendfyre?"

Ron looked at him. "Harry didn't want you to die either. He thought you were worth saving. He says that Dumbledore thought you were worth saving, and so does he."

Draco was astonished. He took a long contemplative sip of his drink. Harry… Potter, he corrected himself, thought he was worth saving? He tossed the coin absent-mindedly. "Queen. Your question."

"Why do you hate Harry and us so much?" Ron looked belligerent again.

"I don't. I haven't for a long time." Draco downed the rest of his drink.

"Since when?" Ron just looked confused.

"No more questions, Weasley. It's your turn to throw."

Ron grunted in what might have been agreement and tossed the coin. "Queen. Since when?"

Draco poured himself another drink. "Since the Triwizard Tournament." He took the coin and tossed it. "Queen." He said, sighing.

"Why have you stopped being horrible this year?" Ron had shifted his chair slightly and he was looking at him with an almost friendly expression on his face.

Draco knew his bewilderment must be showing on his face. Surely the Weasel could not genuinely be this dense? "I am trying for atonement, redemption, whatever you want to call it. My father's stupid decision to follow Voldemort has ruined my family, and I made a series of colossal mistakes. I'm also on probation, and as such, pranks, brawling and other ridiculous things are somewhat frowned upon." He finished his drink, poured another one and drank that too. He thought the Firewhisky must be doing its job for him to say that to Weasley.

Ron looked shocked. He also gulped down his drink and poured another measure. "Oh. You know what, Malfoy, I'm bored of this."

Draco looked up, sharply. "Thanks very much, but being stuck in a cupboard with you isn't much fun for me either!" He felt, bizarrely, slightly hurt.

Ron sighed. "Not that. I'm bored of hating you because you were a git. For several years, okay, but you're not that much of a prat anymore. Hermione and Harry keep going on about how for our shiny post war world to mean anything it has to come with fresh starts for everyone, and apparently that includes you. I guess I see what they mean now."

Ron finished his drink, stood up, and stuck out his hand. Draco was struck by a sudden vision of how the tendency to make instantaneous judgements about people that he'd always regarded as a weakness might look like a strength from another perspective.

He stood up too, reached his hand out and shook Ron's.

As they let go of each other's hand, the furniture disappeared and a doorway appeared in the stone. Draco snorted. The castle couldn't be more cloyingly sentimental if it tried. "After you, Weasley. Aren't you glad we never had to try plan B?"

Harry heard the grinding of stone and leapt up. He was just able to get himself and his cloak to the other side of the corridor before a doorway appeared.

He saw Ron and Malfoy nod to each other before heading off in opposite directions. Harry stood, transfixed by all that he'd heard and knowing he'd never beat Ron to the common room. He decided to linger awhile then claim to have been in the library instead.

Harry was staring at Malfoy at breakfast the next morning with a stupid grin on his face. Ron looked over to him and shook his head. "Mate?"

"Yeah?" Harry didn't look away from the Slytherin table.

"Why don't you ask Malfoy out for a drink? Every weekend's a Hogsmeade weekend for us lofty eighth years."

Harry didn't have to fake his astonishment. He knew that Ron and Malfoy had come to some sort of understanding in the cupboard last night, but this was still unexpected. "Umm, what?"

"Look, I don't hate him anymore, alright? I told you what happened last night. And you don't stare at anyone else like you stare at him, and frankly, I think he might like you too. I mean, if it were up to me to choose your boyfriends, I'd recommend Charlie or even that Finch-Fletchley or anyone really, but it's not. And I think you should do what makes you happy, even if that happens to be Malfoy."

Harry looked at Ron carefully. He looked resigned but genuine. "You know, that's not a bad idea. I might just do that." Figuring that jumping straight in was a strategy that had served him well in the past, Harry shoved the rest of his piece of toast in his mouth when he saw Malfoy getting up to leave the Great Hall.

He caught up with him in the entrance hall. "Malfoy, hi!"

"Good morning Potter." If Malfoy was surprised at being accosted by Harry first thing in the morning he didn't show it.

Harry smiled then looked down at his shoes. "So, umm, I was wondering…." he paused. Then he straightened up, as if he'd gathered up his resolve, and looked right at Malfoy's face. "Would you like to go for a drink with me tonight?"

Draco looked stunned. "Yes."

Harry grinned and Draco smiled faintly back. "Meet you here at eight?"

"Okay." Harry smiled. Turns out he wasn't the only person who sometimes lost their eloquence.

"Okay." Harry grinned again. "Going to Transfiguration?"

"Yeah." Draco still looked bemused.

"I'll walk with you, then." Swinging his bag over his shoulder he set off.

That evening, Ron watched Harry ransack his wardrobe twice before he decided reinforcements were necessary. He dragged Hermione from the sofa by the fire and her book and asked her to pick Harry an outfit. The day they'd done their school shopping in Diagon Alley she'd taken them both into Muggle London and helped him buy his own clothes. She picked out the black leather jacket Harry had fallen in love with and imagined Sirius would have worn, and put it together with a pure white t-shirt, black jeans and his black dragonhide boots.

After Harry had asked if he'd looked alright for the fourth time, Hermione looked like she was ready to crack. Instead, she asked gently, "You fancy him, don't you?"

"No! Yes! A little bit! Alright, a lot!"

"Well, I think you could be great together. Try some of that Gryffindor bravery you're so famous for. What have you got to lose?"

Harry buried his head in his hands. "My dignity?"

Hermione smiled. "Harry, can I give you some advice?"

Harry looked up at her. "Please do."

"Be honest with Draco." She smiled.

"How do I look?" He was fiddling with his belt buckle.

"Gorgeous." Ron noticed her smiling encouragingly at him and he took the hint that he was supposed to join in.

"Very smart, Harry." He looked at Hermione pleadingly. Was that a suitable compliment? He felt entirely out of his depth.

Harry grimaced. "You're my best friends; you're obliged to say that!"

Harry was waiting nervously in the entrance hall at ten to eight. By eight o'clock he'd counted all the paving stones and convinced himself Draco was going to stand him up. When Draco arrived at one minute past he grinned in relief. Draco was wearing black woollen trousers and a soft grey slim fitting jumper. He carried his cloak.

"You, er, look great."

Draco looked surprised and pleased. "As do you Potter. Very bad boy in that jacket."

"Shall we…?"

"Let's."

They chatted slightly awkwardly about their lessons on the way to Hogsmeade. When they arrived in the village, Harry pointed to a new bar that had opened over the summer. "I thought we could check it out?" He'd deliberately not chosen _The Three Broomsticks_ and he thought Draco looked relieved.

Draco nodded. When they'd got their drinks and sat down at a table Harry remembered Hermione's advice. He knew if the situations were reversed he'd want Draco to tell him that he'd heard everything. He took a deep breath and spoke.

"Draco, I have to tell you something." Malfoy's relaxed features instantly tensed and his face shuttered back to its blank mask. Harry was astonished to realise that he'd never before worked out this was Draco's defence mechanism. Privately he resolved to spend all his time seeking out relaxed Draco. "It's nothing bad. Or at least, I hope not." Draco seemed to unbend a little.

"I know about you and Ron getting trapped together. Anyway I sort of worked out where you were, and I was, well, I was nosy about what you were doing so I threw every spell I could think of at the wall, but the only one that worked was this eavesdropping one." Seeing Draco's shocked face, Harry trailed off.

"You heard that excruciating twenty questions Queen or Toes rubbish?" Draco looked both annoyed and a little embarrassed.

"Er, yeah." Harry was a little puzzled. Nothing incriminating had been revealed. He decided just to be courageous. "The thing is Draco, I really like you. And everything I heard only made me like you more. And I'd really like it if we could be friends, but I'd really really like it if we could try being more." After he said that Harry realised he'd been so carried away in being brave he didn't even know if Malfoy was gay. He was mortified. Maybe Malfoy thought this was friends having a drink not a date and was desperately uncomfortable that Harry had just… oh... He nearly didn't hear Malfoy reply, so caught up in his self loathing.

Draco coughed. "But, er, the Weas… Ginny?"

"We broke up. Well, I suppose, we never really got back together." Harry resisted the urge to punch the air. Things were looking up. He hadn't hexed him or expressed revulsion at Harry's declaration.

"And you're gay?" Draco looked bemused, but not unhappy, Harry thought.

"Hence the not getting back together. I mean she's great. But she's a girl. And I like men. I like you." Harry looked straight across the table into Draco's eyes. "Er, you're gay too, right?"

Draco unsuccessfully tried to hide his smile. "Yes, Potter, I am gay. I thought everyone knew that." Harry looked relieved. "You didn't know that? You asked me on a date then told me you wanted to be more than friends without first ascertaining I was gay?"

Harry thought Draco sounded faintly admiring. "Yeah? Potentially foolhardy now I think it through." Harry finished his drink. "Why don't we go for a walk and talk somewhere more private?"

Draco nodded and gathered up his cloak. Harry held the door open for him, and then reached for his hand. Draco started, but then grasped it and interlinked their fingers. They walked through the Hogwarts gates and headed to the lake. "It won't be easy, you know." Draco said suddenly, lifting their interlinked hands.

"I know. Let's sit."

Draco's lips moved into what Harry was amused to see could only be described as a pout. "Potter, the ground's damp!"

Harry conjured a blanket and cast warming charms. "Better?"

Draco smiled. "Much. Thank you." They sat down side by side, legs outstretched, thighs touching.

"You're welcome. And I know it won't be easy. But easy's overrated I've always thought. And you're clever and occasionally witty and mind-meltingly beautiful. And you're trying so hard to make amends and it's admirable. And I'd be honoured to be your boyfriend, even if you do call Heads or Tails Queen or Toes."

"You think I'm beautiful?" Harry hadn't known that shy was part of Draco's character until that moment.

"Inside and out."

For the first time, Draco felt he might be worthy of Potter. Potter seemed to think so, and arguing with him had never worked out for him before. Instead of gushing and cuddling puppies and heaven forbid, singing, all of which he felt like doing, he smirked. "No need to get soppy about it, Potter."

Harry beamed at him. "I think you secretly like soppiness, Draco."

"I do not! I like presents and kisses, both of which I expect plenty of!" Draco felt himself pouting. Pouting! He was sure Malfoys were not supposed to pout.

"Is that so?" Draco shivered at the low timbre of his voice and its suggestive tone. "I suggest you come here then." Harry opened his legs and Draco scrambled into the vee he created, draping his legs over Harry's thighs and holding on to his shoulders. Harry gently put his hands on Draco's hips.

Draco exhaled with a gentle "Harry", and something in his voice or face spurred Harry on from just gazing at him. They both closed their eyes and their lips met in the gentlest of touches. Draco was amazed at how peaceful he felt, cocooned in Harry's warmth. With each tiny tender kiss it was as if his shattered post war self was knitting back together. Then Harry darted his tongue out to lick along Draco's lower lip and Draco couldn't contain his moan at the surge of desire that pulsed through him. He brought his hands up to tangle in Harry's messy hair, absently noticing how soft it was, and he tentatively licked at Harry's parted lips. Harry opened his mouth wider and let Draco in. He hummed in delight and the vibrations made Draco smile against his lips. If Potter's vision of his post war world included plenty of this, then Draco thought there might be a place for him in it after all.

fin


End file.
